


Cold Fare

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Cold Weather, Community: fmagiftexchange, Gen, Pre-Canon, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-08 14:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3212243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: It’s cold, and they need meat. Riza’s going to get it. With or without Roy’s help. Mentions of animal butchering/blood/hunting. <br/>Disclaimer: Arakawa definitely owns everything, I just play around here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Fare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cornerofmadness](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerofmadness/gifts).



The old house leaked cold air, with drafts common around window and door frames. The thick rugs on the floor didn’t help much, as threadbare as they’d become over the years. The heavy curtains did block some of the drafts, but the breeze just drifted down to the floor or up over the curtain rods, so the cold still managed to seep in. 

Roy had discovered the warmest part of the house was the kitchen, where a huge pot-bellied stove, as well as a fire place with a spit left over from long-gone days, could be stoked with wood. The kitchen seemed more solidly built than the rest of the house, but that might just have meant ‘younger’, with less time to have settled and warped from the cold of the winters and heat of the summers. At any rate, he spent a lot of time at the thick work table, with its scars from knives over the years, studying the work Master Hawkeye had given him and pretending he wasn’t watching the Master’s daughter, Riza. 

Most of the time, he was good at it – he was here to _work_ , after all. He had a goal in mind after watching what his aunt and her girls had gone through over the years, one to better the country. The only way he could figure to do that would be to eventually join the military and work his way up to become Fuhrer. In the mean time, as a scrawny fifteen year old, he still had some work to do. Distractions, even lovely one as Miss Riza could be, weren’t something he could allow himself, much as he wanted to. 

The door to the kitchen opened, a gust of cold air entering the room like an eager dog, going everywhere at once. Roy gasped in shock, only partly from the chilly touch of the breeze. He almost didn’t recognize Miss Riza, dressed as she was, with an old, but well-kept, rifle in her glove hands. “What are you doing?” 

Her mouth was muffled by a thick scarf, but her words came through clearly. “We need meat.”

The thought that they could go to the small town, and the butcher shop, fleetingly crossed Roy’s mind, until he thought of his master’s comments about the fee Aunt Chris sent with him to pay his way. Pushing up off the bench, he asked, “Do you need any help?” 

Miss Riza’s cool blue gaze took him in. “Do you even have clothes warm enough to wear outside? I’ll be gone for hours.” 

Hours. In the cold outside. Roy cringed inwardly, swearing he could feel his balls retreating up into his body just at the thought of it. “I’m sure I have something to wear.” He could just make out the sweep of her eyebrow rising into the brim of her hat. Roy hoped he wasn’t flushing. “I can help you.” When Miss Riza didn’t answer, he insisted, “I want to help. Please.” 

“I thought you were studying.”

“I can study later.” Was Miss Riza wavering? “Let me get my coat and boots.” He hoped she’d be waiting for him when he came back to the kitchen. 

Miss Riza was, though she narrowed her eyes at his clothes. “You’ll never stay warm in that.” 

“This is a wool coat!” Roy tightened the belt around his waist for emphasis. 

“You don’t have a hat, nor gloves, and are your boots waterproof? We’ll be out in the snow for hours.” She rapped out the final two words like gunshots. “A scarf is another good idea. Or a jacket with a hood.” With a sniff, Miss Riza said, “You wait here. You’ll just be a nuisance.” She swept out of the kitchen’s exterior door like a queen, leaving Roy gaping behind her. 

It took about two minutes before he came back to himself, determined to show Miss Riza he _could_ handle it, and that he _could_ be of help to her. That lasted about twenty steps outside the kitchen, when Roy realized she was right – gloves, a hat, and a scarf, as well as waterproof boots were something he should have for venturing out into this weather. Still, he persevered, following in Miss Riza’s prints. Trying desperately to ignore how his socks were soaked through in just a few minutes, and later, that he could feel a blister forming on his heel. Trying to breathe through the cold. Trying to catch up, even though he was wondering if he could even walk. 

Finally, Roy stopped, panting heavily and leaning against a tree. When he looked back, he couldn’t see the house, though the tracks showed clearly in the snow. Continuing on seemed fruitless – he hadn’t seen Miss Riza at all. As he tried to catch his breath, Roy saw a rabbit appear near the base of another tree. It stood on its haunches, nose wriggling, and took a few cautious hops away from the security of the trunk. It paused again, ears swiveling, before it started digging in the snow. Roy knew if he moved, the rabbit would bolt. 

For a second, he considered it, preparing himself to crash through the snow. Instead, something drifted by past his head, so close, his hair was stirred. The owl struck the rabbit, making it squeal and thrash, and Roy realized he might have a chance. With a yell, he grabbed up a handful of snow, flinging it at the owl. The owl twisted its head, its wings coming up, one claw still clenched around its prey. Roy threw a second snowball, and a third, and the owl flapped backward, leaving the rabbit in the snow. 

Cheering, Roy stumbled over to snatch up the rabbit, holding it up by its ears. It twitched a few times, then was still, dangling in his grip. Blood matted through its fur, some still dribbling down the pelt. “Ew,” Roy said, wrinkling his nose. But he’d done something, hadn’t he? Managed to snatch a rabbit from an owl. And it was a heavy rabbit, too. Feeling proud of himself, he turned and started back for the house. Miss Riza, he was sure, knew how to find her own way home. 

X X X

Trudging through the snow helped keep her warm, well, that and the fact she’d managed to bag a goose down by the lake. Geese had a lot of meat on them, and with this one, she didn’t even have to go wading – it’d been on the shore, honking. Maybe its mate had died – there was something about geese and losing their mates that Riza’d heard over the years. Whatever it was, the goose wasn’t leaving the bank, and that made it easier on her. 

Hauling the huge bird back home was a little less pleasant, but she didn’t have to carry it, at least. The snow provided for pulling it along behind her – once she’d drained the blood and cut out the offal, leaving it behind for something to find and eat later. The goose would provide enough food for a few days, at least until the road going down into town became passable again. 

When she spied the light in the kitchen window, Riza smiled to herself, wondering just what her father’s apprentice might’ve gotten up to while she was gone. There were tracks showing in the snow, far more than she left when she’d gone off on her hunt. Maybe he’d even gone outside in that ridiculous outfit? 

Opening the door, she sucked in a warm lungful of air, breaking into a cough at the scents assaulting her. “What is that?” 

“Rabbit, Riza dear.” Her father turned from the spit in the fireplace, a smile on his gaunt face. “Mustang went out and convinced an owl to turn over his prey to our household.” 

Roy beamed from where he sat on the table bench, a book in his hand. “It wasn’t much,” he said, though he had that gloating look that made Riza want to slap him. 

“I bagged a goose,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as sullen as she felt. 

“Excellent!” Her father rose, peering at the dead bird. “Gutted and bled?” 

“Yes.” Of course. Who did he thing she was?

“Mustang didn’t know that part,” her father said, and, just like that, Roy deflated. “But we do have meat for supper, and he found some potatoes in the cellar for roasting. Why don’t you hang the goose in the smoke house for now, and we’ll eat?” 

The idea of food swept away any protests Riza might have had – not that she had many, at this point. “Let me get washed up afterward.” Tromping back in the snow to the little stone house was nothing after all the walking she’d done earlier today, and she took a few seconds to linger there, wondering at Roy’s ability to scare an owl away from its prey. Maybe there was something worthwhile in the little city brat. 

The cold seeped in, reminding her of a warmer house, a fire, and food, and Riza locked the smoke house, hurrying back inside, her stomach growling an accompaniment the whole way.


End file.
